


Moist Ache

by AnnaMcb24



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Drabble, Gen, can be harry/b'elanna/tom if u want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26600530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMcb24/pseuds/AnnaMcb24
Summary: Tom grows a mustache. B'Elanna and Harry are confused.
Relationships: B'Elanna Torres & Tom Paris, Harry Kim & B'Elanna Torres, Harry Kim & Tom Paris
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Moist Ache

**Author's Note:**

> I made a typo in a group chat and was forced to write this.
> 
> Thank you @librarianhockey (https://twitter.com/librarianhockey) on twitter for your beautiful artwork.

“What is  _ that _ ?”

Tom looks up from his breakfast — some baffling Neelix creation that he can’t remember the name of, coupled with whatever they’re now calling coffee on the ship — to see Harry looking at him, perplexed, his own tray in his hands. Tom gestures for Harry to sit and Harry pulls out a chair, still looking confused.

“What is what, Harry?” he asks, dumping some more of the replicated bottle of cholula he and B’Elanna have been sharing over his food. Harry scoffs.

“That caterpillar on your lip. What is it?”

“Ah.” Tom nods, taking a bite and considering. “You see, Harry, when some Homo sapiens go through puberty, their body begins to produce increased amounts of testosterone, which leads to —”

“Thank you, Tom. I know what facial hair is.” Harry’s exasperated tone never fails to make Tom break character. He grins as Harry rolls his eyes. “I meant why you’ve picked this precise style. You look like a twentieth century salesman.”

Tom gapes in mock hurt. “Why, Harry! I’m wounded! Are you unaware of the greatest singer in earth history?”

“If you name someone more recent than twenty-one hundred, I’ll eat my hat.”

“I am, of course,” Tom continues, ignoring the interruption, “speaking of the icon Freddie Mercury.”

“I’m not familiar,” Harry says, grimacing at his own breakfast. Tom passes him the cholula.

“Oh, Harry! ‘We Are the Champions’? ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’? You must’ve heard one of those!”

“Maybe.” Harry shrugs. “I don’t know them by name. How is this relevant?”

“Well, Mr. Mercury was a celebrity for other reasons too, including being openly queer.”

“Unusual in the twentieth century.”

“Indeed. I’ve decided that I want to emulate Mr. Mercury’s rebellious nature a bit more and to encourage myself in this, I —”

“Is he telling you about this stupid moist ache shit he’s on?”

Tom and Harry turn to see B’Elanna, replicated maté in hand, her usual sour expressed in place.

Harry splutters a laugh. “His  _ what _ shit?”

A playful smile crosses her face and as she glances between them. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” she asks, pulling out a chair to join them.

“B’Elanna —” he doesn’t beg. Tom isn’t a man to beg, outside of very specific circumstances, but B’Elanna just grins more wickedly and turns her dark eyes to Harry.

“Our mutual friend Tom had a very twenty-first century problem when he sent me a comm message about the  _ moist ache _ he was growing.”

“I don’t like voice to text!” Tom says, but Harry is starting to laugh at him too now.

“Oh, Tom. Autocorrect got you?"

B’Elanna nods smugly and Tom would bang their heads together if he didn’t love them both so much.

“I don’t like it when you two are friends,” he says but that only makes them laugh harder.


End file.
